Love and Be Silent
by Wendy Blue
Summary: There are a lot of fanfics that end with JAM getting together and Jim leaving to have the Talk of Doom with Karen. This is that talk.


**A/N: I've been posting this everywhere so sorry if you've already seen this. Even if you have though, I don't mind you reading again! Just an angsty little one shot from Karen's POV. Enjoy!**

She's tossing a salad when she hears him let himself in with the new key she just gave him last week. The smile she'd been sporting as she made dinner grows bigger, and she tosses the spinach leaves with a bit more enthusiasm. She picks up an almond and pops it in her mouth as she turns to face him, ready to envelope him in her arms because it's Saturday and she hasn't seen him since work the day before. He'd had "things to do" and rather than press the issue, she decided to be the easy-going girlfriend and let it go.

But now he's here and that's all she really cares about and she's ready for him to make some smart-ass comment about her being domestic when she notices the look on his face. It's sad, but resolute; guilty, but determined. She'd seen it before: the day of Oscar's party in an empty conference room with white snowflakes framing his downcast face.

So when she's sees it again, her heart does a little somersault and it's all she can do to remain upbeat. In case she's overreacting.

"Hey," her voice cracks a little and she clears her throat to try again. "I'm making salad," she says as if that culinary accomplishment will make him love her the way she's always wished he would.

He manages to crack a smile but it's half-hearted and Karen can see his mouth part slightly, the speech he's been practicing on the way over becoming more and more visible.

"I don't…" he begins, but then stops with his lips pressed tight and he exhales through his nose. That's all it takes for her eyes to start burning and the image of him staring at her carpet with his hands in his pockets becomes blurry and out of focus. She blinks hard, letting a couple of tears escape and now he's just a series of ripples, like she's looking at a reflection of him instead of the real thing. She starts to think that maybe that's all he's ever really been.

He makes a hesitant few moves towards her, and she turns back toward the counter, her shoulders shuddering just a bit as the tears come quicker and more rampant. She flinches from his hand on her shoulder, his palm feeling white-hot as memories of every other time that hand has touched her come charging back, now with a question of whether it ever meant anything. But it doesn't take long for her to relent, and she braces her shoulder into his chest and lets him hold her because it's the last time he ever will. So she forgets about the fact that they're breaking up, the pasta that's burning, and the receptionist that's making dinner somewhere for him too.

He pulls them apart gently and sweeps a thumb under her eye to intercept another tear. He gives her a small and quiet "I'm sorry", and she knows it's the bitterness in her that silently calls it pathetic. But then she knows it's pathetic that she can't even bring herself to respond. She just bites the small piece of skin on her bottom lip and nods.

He continues to stand in front of her, awkwardly waiting for something. Anything.

"You can go now." She hates that this is how they're going to leave things; her giving him permission to walk out and go back to the one he really wants to be with. _Always_ wanted to be with. But she's too tired to think of anything better and dramatic exits are only for the movies anyway.

She goes back to tossing salad, even though there's quite a lot for a dinner for one. He makes another loud exhale and she hears the jingling of keys. She doesn't have to turn around to see that gold key slide off the ring and be set on her kitchen table, and the image triggers her eyes for another round of tears that she won't let start till he leaves. He moves toward the door and she can feel him pause; maybe taking one last look at her but she can't be sure and refuses to let herself check. No sooner does the door click closed than she finally lets go and tears tumble into the Italian dressing.


End file.
